


Under The Desk

by thecephalopodqueen



Series: The Tevinter Mage and his Southern Templar [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 06:58:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12452058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecephalopodqueen/pseuds/thecephalopodqueen
Summary: Dorian intends to give the Inquisitor a blow job no matter who walks in and what they're talking about.Kink Meme Fill.





	Under The Desk

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of fic has been devoted to Inquisitor under a desk taking care of their LI, but I'd love to see the reverse: oral and fingering from LI while the Inquisitor is at their desk. Of course they also have to be interrupted at some point and try to keep cool. No preferences really so whatever the filler wants.

"Dorian, what are you doing down there?" Trevelyan asked, peering down at the Mage, sitting with his back to the drawers of his desk, old book propped against his knees. He spared him a quick glance, mischief behind his eyes and lips curled up in a knowing smirk.

"I'm doing a bit of reading, Inquisitor."

Trevelyan sighed, rolling his eyes as he pulled out his chair. "But why behind my desk? On the floor?" He sat in the chair, reaching for the nearest page he'd come to write a report on.

"Do I need a reason to enjoy this lovely carpeting?"

He quirked a brow, shaking his head at Dorian. "You're the last person I can see willingly sitting on the floor. Especially when I have a perfectly fine couch by the stairs."

"Trust me, Amatus, the carpet is softer than your couch. The carpet, at least, is of higher quality." Trevelyan looked at the small, two-person couch. It was a couch much like he'd napped on as a child, before he'd been sent to the Chantry. He voiced his protest at the blatant mocking of his favorite piece of furniture, but the Mage only laughed.

“No offense, but the couch isn't the only abomination in this room right now. He pinched the fabric of his pants between his fingers. “I can’t believe you’re wearing beige…”

“There’s nothing wrong with beige!” He protested, rolling his eyes as Dorian traced the pattern of his pants with a mournful look. Dorian didn't respond. Trevelyan's rolled his eyes and turned his attention back on his work. Everything was quiet for a few minutes, him writing, Dorian silently mocking his clothes, but then...

"Dorian, what are you doing?" His face grew flush as the fingers kneaded his skin, traveling in steady circling motions towards the junction of his thighs.

"Nothing, why do you ask?"

Trevelyan bit his lip, stiffening as he brushed against a... Much more sensitive bit of skin, then pulled away. His fingers tightened around the quill.

"Dorian…” He wasn't sure if he meant it as a warning or encouragement. He shuddered when those nimble fingers undid the string lacing his pants together, shifting as they found his flesh. His hips bucked forward against his will, and an unfortunately needy whine followed the motion.

Dorian chuckled, making him flush brighter red. Somehow he’d managed to pull his member from his pants, wrapping his fingers around the hardening flesh. Trevelyan’s eyes shut tight, his fists clenched as he worked.

Then something warm and wet was slowly creeping down his length. His eyes opened a sliver and met the sight of his member rapidly disappearing into his mouth. The quill snapped under the force of his grip.

Suddenly there was a knock at his door. Before he had the chance to realize what was happening, the door opened, and Josephine ascended the stairs.

Fuck.

"J-Josephine! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

“Good evening Inquisitor, an important matter in need of your attention has just found its way to my desk.”

"Oh, o-of course-- Ah!" A surprised gasp was torn from his lips as the Mage completely engulfed him. Josephine looked startled, and he prayed to the Maker She didn't realize what was happening.

"Inquisitor?"

"I-It's nothing! Just... just the anchor acting up again." As if it knew he needed help, the mark sputtered to life, briefly creating sparks of green light. To his relief, Josephine seemed to buy it.

"Does it hurt, then?"

"No, noooo, just... I-It's like... my hand just... twinges." He could feel Dorian smirking around him at his floundering. "I'm s-sorry Josie, was there something you needed?"

"You have a letter from home, Inquisitor." She did in fact seem to be carrying a letter addressed to him. "Your mother sent one to me as well. It seems she will be visiting from Ostwick."

"What? When?"

"They'll have already left by the time the message arrived, Inquisitor. Tomorrow, at the earliest, but I expect she will most likely be here within two days. I admit, I know less about the Trevelyans than I should. What is your mother like?"

The horror of discussing his mother with his ambassador while Dorian was sucking him off was not lost on him. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clenched his fist.

"Do we really need to... discuss this, right now?"

"I assure you, Inquisitor, if we are to prepare for your family, I need to know what to do as soon as possible."

"Ahh... fine. My mother is fascinated with history and politics. Is that enough to go on?" Josephine scribbled something on her board.

"Which room should we prepare for her? Currently, we can offer a smaller room with a nice view of the gardens, or one of the larger rooms in the middle of the castle." Trevelyan wanted to bang his head against the desk. Maybe if he hit it hard enough, he'd knock himself unconscious and save himself the trouble.

"The garden will suffice..."

“Excellent. And the dinner preparations?” Maker have mercy. The thing that tongue was doing to him...

“Anything is fINe…!” Josephine nodded, scribbling more notes. “She’s fond of apples… Is that all?”

“Yes, that should be fine. Are you sure you wouldn't like for someone to look at your hand?”

“Positive, just leave it… leave it be… happens all the time…!”

“If you insist, Inquisitor. I will start with the preparations immediately, and rearrange to dinner schedul.” Josephine dipped head and retreated towards the stairs, slowly, painfully, humming as she double checked her notes. He bit his lip, holding in a moan or ten.

Finally, finally, Josephine was gone. The moment his door shut, and her footsteps faded out, he allowed a half-whimper-half-groan to escape, leaning back into the back of the chair with his head tilted back, eyes heavily lidded. His hands fell under the desk and fingers laced through Dorian's hair.

"I hate you... mnn..." Now that they were alone, every little noise trying to escape earlier was free to be heard. Tiny whimpers and moans trickled out as he rolled his hips.

"Doesn't sound like it," Dorian pulled away long enough to tease, before returning to Trevelyan's aching flesh. He squeezed his fingers tighter into his hair and moaned loudly in response.

It didn't take much longer for him to reach the tip of the proverbial iceberg, tightening his grip on Dorian’s hair and choking out a warning. A moment later the Mage pulled away, then slithered onto Trevelyan’s lap, homing in on his lips.

His nose wrinkled slightly as he tasted himself in Dorian’s mouth, but it wasn't so unpleasant that he stopped exploring with his tongue. The same taste he associated with his mouth was still strong, fruity and then the metallic taste of lyrium, addicting even with the salty coating.

He shifted his position so that one hand pressed against his back, forcing their bodies closer and the other moved south, looking to repay the favor.

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason I'm really embarrassed about this one.


End file.
